Entwined
by foggynite
Summary: *YAOI* (A kind of prequel for Illicit Blood, but not necessary to read to understand it) Rayjura remembers the past.


Archived at: http://minkland.dreamhost.com  
  
Rating: PG-13; Yaoi  
  
The song's "Entwined" by Coal Chamber, which happens to be a great band. Pretty goth boys and girls. . . mmm. . . Oh, the inspiration. . . Anywho, this is an accompanying piece to Illicit Blood, but you don't really need to read it ::glareofdeathhinthint:: to understand this story. It's just something I cooked up on a Beltway traffic jam. Toodles. -Fog-  
  
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Could we please shut our mouths for awhile.   
  
For only just a while I could take it.  
  
And if we could lay alone for awhile.  
  
For only just awhile I could take it.  
  
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"God, you might as well be a corpse!" Naaza pushed the unresponsive warlord of deception away from him in disgust and frustration, breaking the one-sided kiss. Rayjura pulled his kimono tighter around his slender frame, lowering his head until his face was hidden behind a curtain of white.  
  
"He's gone, dammit!" Naaza raged on. "You're worshiping the memory of someone you barely even knew! So you fucked him- We all did. It doesn't mean you should throw away your life for some ghost!" The harsh words were meant to distance himself from the pain of rejection. From knowing that his rival was only a shadow still haunting the halls of a broken down castle. The more anger he threw at Rayjura, the greater the pain grew as the man who had come to mean so much to him seemed unaffected. His silence hurt worse than any denial.  
  
"He wasn't a saint, Rayjura. None of us could ever be labeled that." On the verge of tears, Naaza pulled his outrage tighter around his heart. With a single step, he closed the distance between them and grasped the white haired warlord by the shoulders, shaking him roughly. "Why can't you just let him go, dammit? Do I have to kill myself too for you to give a fuck?! I'm real- I'm here, and heaven help me, I want you bad enough to die just so you'd look at me and see me for once!"  
  
Rayjura stayed tense in his arms, head resolutely bowed. Strands of his long, fine hair were lifted gently in the breeze from the savage movements. There was nothing he could say to make Naaza feel better. The warlord had come here tonight hoping to break the silence in his heart, but he couldn't let go. The others didn't understand that he and Shuten had been close, even with Arago's hold on them- It wasn't until that hold was broken that he had realized exactly how much he had cared. By then it was too late. Far too late for either of them.  
  
Naaza stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He had seen the eyes of the one he loved, and they had held only thoughts of the past.   
  
Still standing there, muscles quivering from the intense storm raging in his head, Rayjura recalled the contours of his face, the long lashes that would flutter against his skin like butterfly wings. They would lay in that very room, in comfortable silence, a brief respite from Arago's great plans. In those arms, he would force himself to relax, to accept the touch, the warmth.   
  
That was one of the things he hated most now; the absence of warmth. Waking to a cold bed, opening his eyes expecting even now to see that silken red hair a frizzy mess under the blankets. The cruel disappointment seemed like an open wound on his insides. His heart felt like a festering sore. God, how he missed him.  
  
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You have made me alright   
  
complete again.  
  
Always willing to break down my will again.  
  
I intend to render my sensibilities have all gone mad.  
  
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When the Armor of Cruelty had claimed a new bearer, Rayjura had been almost a hundred years old, so alone for so long and in love with his solitude. Immortality in a Nether Realm of spirits and cold grey flesh had hardened him, yet torn him apart. Flashes of his mortal life still came to him in dreams and fleeting memories, reminders that he had never truly been human to begin with.   
  
For Arago, he had destroyed the man and become the monster within. Wreaking havoc on the innocent and guilty alike, he had proven he had no conscience, no remorse, as they were cut down in a bloody trail. Under Arago's power, before the beginning of the end, those memories had been a source of pride. Now he felt shame burning into his damned soul.   
  
Screams echoed in his mind- a woman's shrill cry of horror as her husband was cleaved from navel to chin with the blade of a pike. So funny had it been then, but now it resonated through his skull and he understood her pain, the gut wrenching disbelief of watching a loved one die.   
  
Green eyes. The brightest jade of a wealthy empire, seeing into his very soul. There had always been a serene wisdom lurking behind Shuten's eyes, like the soft flow of a brook over the stone riverbed. Those eyes had drawn him in, even when he and Shuten were at each other's throats over one of their advancements or failures. Where he had been willing to kill Naaza or Anubis just to gain Arago's favor, Shuten was safe though the words were never spoken out loud, or even thought. It was just fact.   
  
Watching the red hair flowing in the glittering water, an unnatural sun reflecting over the sinking strands- Then he had heard the woman screaming as she stood helpless to prevent her worst nightmare, knowing she was next and not caring because there was nothing left. But there was something Shuten gave them in his willingness to die so that they might be saved. Arago had lost his death grip on their souls as they came to the realization they were being used.   
  
If only he had realized earlier. . .   
  
If only he had stopped the death blow. . .  
  
If only he had told him. . .  
  
If only. . .  
  
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You tend to talk about the better things.  
  
Then let's move on to better things.  
  
I'm using all my sensibilities.  
  
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A languid day spent lazing about in bed, exploring each other as though they had never been lovers before. The smile that could be so vicious now soft and open, inviting kisses. It was the first time Rayjura had let him spend the night in his room. The start of an addiction to watch him awake and blink away sleep from those bright eyes.   
  
He could still feel the golden warmth of that day even in the chill of the now decaying room. All the warmth was gone now, just like the sun was shut out by curtains and pain. Along the musty stone floor, he could still hear the soft padding of his bare feet coming towards the bed. He could feel the anticipation that had grown with each night spent together.   
  
They were immortal- he was not supposed to lose him! The warmth of his memories receded as a wave of regrets and grief rushed over him. They were supposed to have had an eternity of nights together, just as Shuten had whispered in his ear as they drifted off to sleep.  
  
Murmuring contentedly, he would speak of after the master had conquered all the planes, of the time they would have to spend forever drifting together wherever they pleased. They would have servants to bring them baths, and fine horses to charge over the countryside. Rayjura would know peace after the carnage, as they dominated all in their path.  
  
His betrayal of Arago's cause had stung all the more, knowing that those dreams would never come true. Shuten believed in something even greater than their happiness. At the time he had been furious, but it wasn't until the ripples faded away in the golden water that he gave up the dream entirely. Arago had ordered him killed, but as long as he still lived, Rayjura had a spark of hope. But that hope died with his lover.  
  
Somewhere in his mind, heart wrenching screams of pain rumbled through his memories.  
  
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Would you please assume that face.  
  
The one that you make at me.  
  
And if we could make love for awhile.  
  
For only just awhile God I need it I need it.  
  
You have made me alright complete again.  
  
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He had started to take for granted that Shuten would come to him at night. He was never one for words, but the warlord of cruelty would know what he was thinking just by watching his body movements. They would share a glance after reporting from battle, perhaps a knowing smile on Shuten's part or a nod on his. No matter, he would not be alone that night.  
  
When they joined, he loved to watch the way his lashes would fall to rest on his flushed cheeks, the way his soft, pliant lips would part with a small gasp that quickly turned to moans of pleasure. He had let Shuten into his refuge of silence, and in turn had found sanctuary as he lost himself inside him.   
  
He remembered everything that would arouse him, or spur him on. The tender spot behind his ear, the crook of his elbow, the flesh of his wrist. Light touches along his chest, the silken weight of Rayjura's hair on bare flesh. When they came together, Shuten was the only focus of his mind until he was overwhelmed by his own pleasure.  
  
In that perfect bliss he had felt safe, protected yet protecting. For all his bravado, Shuten had been too sensitive for their way of life. He willed himself into a hardened soldier, but the guilt and pain was still buried beneath the wreckage of his soul. He had not scoured it as clean as Rayjura; perhaps that's why he was the first to be saved while the others almost drowned once they were set free.  
  
************************************  
  
Always willing to break down my will again.  
  
I intend to render my sensibilities have all gone wild.  
  
You tend to talk about the better things.  
  
Then let's move on to better things.  
  
I'm using all my sensibilities.  
  
If we could get caught in the moment.   
  
Get caught in the moment.  
  
Our senses run dry.  
  
**************************************  
  
His hands clenched into fists as the memories replayed themselves in his mind, over and over as the images surrounded him in his dark cell. For a moment it was as though he was standing beside him, seeing his soft smile, hearing his distinct laugh. A trail of his smell- leather and sweat and a musk all his own- wafted his way on an imaginary breeze, invading his head and his lungs.   
  
There, in front of him, in his room, their room, stood Shuten alive and whole once more. If he would reach out and take his hand they could go for a walk through the corridors, survey the changes in the land. He could tell him all the things he had learned in the mortal world during his rare visits there. The fireplace could be lit and fill his room with a warm glow and the scent of burning wood. They could lie in the bed and snuggle close, pulling the covers over their heads like there was no outside world. These past years could all be a dream and they would be back in that golden afternoon so long ago making love and whispering fantasies.  
  
But it was all lies.  
  
The red hair became darker as the water crept through it, pulling it down into the depths.  
  
If only he could reach out. . .  
  
The illusion faded as his hopes once did, dying a death once thought impossible. He had thought their lives would continue on as they were forever, but everything changes. That was a fact of life he had always held close to his heart, but years of the same realm, of killing day after day, had softened the lesson. He remembered it all too sharply the day Shuten betrayed them.   
  
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I would sacrifice myself for you.  
  
If we could get caught in the moment.  
  
Get caught in the moment.  
  
Our senses run dry.  
  
If we could. . .  
  
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The room was cold again, filled with the musty smell of mildew and neglect. He stood alone, clutching his kimono to him as though it would warm the chill in his heart and bones. His skin was clammy, the fist pressed tightly to his chest was damp. He didn't know corpses could cry. Perhaps he could sink into the water too, and embrace his love in their glittering grave. Perhaps then, he could watch him wake up and blink the sleep from his eyes.   
  
Silence surrounded him, but he did not love this solitude. Here the memories kept him company as he would accept no other comfort. His love had died for his sake, and he had not appreciated the significance until it was far too late.  
  
Red hair sinking, floating like rose petals down to the bottom. . .  
  
If only he had. . .  
  
No hope in lies. . .  
  
In his mind, a woman was screaming.  
  
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If we could get caught in the moment.  
  
Get caught in the moment.  
  
Our senses run dry.  
  
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End file.
